Peter spread apart his legs, thrusting his hands deep in his knickerbocker pockets. “I'm going to be sent away, Mr. Grace, and I'm worried.” Mr. Grace twisted his head, as if trying to lengthen his fat neck; finding that impossible, he shifted his ponderous body nearer to the edge of the seat and regarded Peter with his kind little pig's eyes. “Worried, Mr. Peter? Well, I never!” “I'm worried for Kay--I shan't be here to take care of her.” His voice fluttered, then steadied itself as he lifted up his head and finished bravely. “We'll do that, Master Peter. You kin rely on an old friend.” “Thank you, Mr. Grace; that was what I was going to ask you. If anyone was to run away with her, they'd come to you to drive them. Wouldn't they?” “Not a shadder of a doubt. I drives all the best people in Topbury.” “These wouldn't be 'zactly the best people--not if they were stealing Kay.” “All the better; the easier for me to spot 'em. Any par-tickler pusson you suspeck of 'aving wicked designs upon 'er?” “No one in particular, Mr. Grace. I was just frightened that I might come home and find her gone.” “What one might call a prickcaution?” “I think that's what I meant.” Mr. Grace's neck had become sore with looking down, so he tempted Peter to come on the box. Puffing and blowing, he gave him a hand to help him. When they were seated side by side, Mr. Grace looked fondly at the curly head and straight little body. “I shall miss yer.” “And I shall miss you. It's nice to be missed by somebody.” “I shall miss yer 'cause you've been my prickcaution.” “I?” “Yas, you. You've been my prickcaution against my darter, Grace. She's thought better o' me since we've been friends. And then----” “I'm glad she's thought better of you. And then, what?” “Well, you kep me informed as to 'er nights out, so I could h'escape.” Peter regarded his friend in surprise. “Escape! But she wouldn't hurt you.” “Not h'intendin' to, Master Peter; not h'intendin' to. It's me feelin's h'I refer to. You don't know darters. 'Ow should yer?--She thinks I drink, like all the rest of 'em 'cept you. On 'er nights h'out she brings 'er blooming Salvaition Band to this 'ere corner, h'aimin' at my con-wersion. It's woundin' and 'umiliatin', Master Peter, for a pa as don't need no conwersion. She makes me blush all through, and that makes things wuss for a man wi' a red compleckshon. So yer see, you wuz my prickcaution.” “But you don't drink, Mr. Grace, do you?” “No more 'an will wash me mouf out same as a 'orse. It's cruel 'ard to be suspickted o' wot yer don't do.” Peter looked miserably into the kind little pig's eyes. “I'm suspected too. That's why I'm being sent away.” “O' wot?” “They call it 'magination.” “Ah!” “Why do you say _ah_ like that?” “'Cause it's wuss'n drink--much wusser. But take no more'n will wash yer mouf out and yer'll be awright. That's my principle in everythin'---- Master Peter, this makes us close friends, don't it? We're both misonderstood. I----”